


Dog Days of Summer (2005)

by xylodemon



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: dogdaysofsummer, Ficlet Collection, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-08-01
Updated: 2005-08-31
Packaged: 2017-11-02 20:39:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 15,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/373104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xylodemon/pseuds/xylodemon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Remus/Sirius ficlets written for <span></span><a href="http://dogdaysofsummer.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://dogdaysofsummer.livejournal.com/"><b>dogdaysofsummer</b></a> 2005.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. secrets of summer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The enigma of August.  
>  Season of dust and teenage arson_

Sirius is a riddle, a mystery, a puzzle whose pieces fit in the least expected ways. He's a wall covered in pictographs and ancient runes, a book written in a language Remus is just beginning to understand. 

Remus learns this secret language slowly, with hands sliding over the curve of Sirius' hip and fingers curled in the soft hair at the nape of Sirius' neck. He decodes with kisses, warm lips and slick a tongue, translates each gasp and moan into letters and words and phrases.

Their flat is dingy and small, a grey square on the wrong side of town that smells of sweat and boys and curry left too long on the kitchen table. Summer creeps inside like a ghost, sinuous and slow, through the chinks in the windowsills and the cracks in the walls and the sliver of space underneath the door. 

Remus watches August from the fire-escape, watches the sun rise early and set late, watches the moon wax and wane, its feverish glow dull compared to the light of his star. Remus feels August through Sirius' head on his shoulder and Sirius' arms around his waist, tastes it in the Butterbeer on Sirius' tongue and the salt on Sirius skin. 

He hides from the heat inside ice cubes and orange squash and cool showers run too long, but Sirius embraces it, basking in the sun until his skin crisps dark and gold and his black hair is streaked with brown. He coaxes it, entreats it, dares the summer to present him with something his force of nature can't destroy. 

Sirius lights a fire at night, sitting cross-legged and near-naked in from of flames that paint his sunkissed skin in orange and red, responding to Remus' complaints about the extra heat with kisses and laughter and smiles. He feeds his pyre schoolwork and letters from his family, claiming freedom with each singed essay and every insult seared to ash. 

He naps underneath the window, curled in a square of sunlight that checkerboards the carpet, coaxing Remus to join him with grey eyes that flash silver and open, reaching hands. His dark hair curtains his face as he leans over Remus, his back arching like the horizon, a perfect curve that marks the descent of the sun. 

The kisses come like honey, sweet and slow and molten, lips sliding over Remus' neck and throat, catching on his stubble-rough jaw. His tongue maps the cartography of Remus' body, swimming river-like scars silvered by age and walking the plains of skin left pale from hiding under clothes.

Sirius' hands wander and roam, and they spark fire hotter than yellow-gold rays and the sultry summer swelter. They touch lightly, fingers fluttering and teasing until Remus shivers, until Remus asks for more and promises Sirius he won't break. 

Remus' name tumbles from Sirius' mouth quietly, a whisper carried just out of reach by a humid, heated wind. He tells Remus he's beautiful with a mouth pressed against Remus' ear, shows him with fingers brushed through grey-streaked fringe, over the line of his nose and the swell of his cheek. 

The sun heralds summer with its path across the sky, watches two boys on a fire-escape eclipse its power with the force of the moon and the stars.


	2. higher, higher

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _a boy and his dog_

Sirius says he's never been to a Muggle park, and Remus says he simply must, at least once in his life.

Remus decides to make a day of it, waking early in the morning and packing a battered basket with sandwiches and butterbeer. Sirius grumbles when Remus pulls him out of bed, but Remus kisses his smiles into frowns and tells him not to bother with his shoes.

The grass is warm and dry, a bit prickly under Sirius' bare feet, and a lake stretches at one end of the park, sunlight glittering off the surface of the water. The air is heavy, threatening a summer thunderstorm, shimmering with humidity and heat. 

Sirius changes into Padfoot when Remus sets the basket down under the shade of a tree, nosing at the lid until Remus bats him away. Remus laughs, calling him a menace and a nuisance, and Padfoot barks, tackling him to the ground. 

Remus laughs harder, petting Padfoot's thick fur, and he scratches behind his ears until Padfoot whines, his leg twitching and jumping. He huffs when Padfoot's wet nose bumps his chin, followed by a rough tongue, and then Padfoot is Sirius, long legs and tickling hands and warm lips on his jaw.

He says not here and Sirius says why not, kissing Remus light and quick, then long, molten and slow. Remus winds his arms around Sirius' neck, pressing close, and he smells sweet and earthy, like the grass underneath him. 

Sirius becomes Padfoot again, barking as he jumps up, and he runs, careless, reckless, whining when Remus won't give chase. Remus laughs, tossing Padfoot a stick, but Padfoot ignores it, sniffing it once before chasing his tail. 

Lunch is tuna, which Sirius hates, and ham, which Sirius loves, with crisp lettuce and red, ripe tomatoes on bread from the bakery around the corner from their flat. The Butterbeer is cold against his tongue, cooling his overheated body, and he drinks it slowly, lounging under the tree with Remus tucked into the curve of his arm. 

Remus murmurs sleepily when Sirius rolls over on him, kissing him, but his fingers snag in Sirius' hair and he arches against Sirius' body. Sirius shifts until he can feel Remus' cock, hard against his own, and he rocks against Remus, slowly, lazily, until Remus gasps and shakes.

He comes quietly, his head resting on Remus' shoulder, his lips brushing over Remus' neck. Remus stretches, smiling, and makes a soft, sleepy sound, and Sirius can only agree. 

The sun has dipped low when Sirius wakes, glinting orange off the lake, and the grass is cool under his fingers. Remus pulls him to his feet with dirty, sweaty hands and promises of fun, smiling as he leads Remus to a different tree. 

The swing creaks when Remus' sits in it, the branch dipping low under his weight, but it holds, and when Remus' kicks his dusty feet they barely brush the grass. 

He asks Sirius to push, and Sirius does, higher, _higher_.


	3. fire and ash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _the drought of 1976_

Britain is burning.

The smoke is no longer in the air, it _is_ the air, and the sky a dull, heavy steel grey the sun is almost powerless to permeate. Sirius' throat is scratchy and raw, hoarse like he'd screamed for the whole month of July. Everything smells like fire, sulfured and bitter, and food and water both taste like the bottom of a Floo.

He watches Remus sleep, because that's what Remus does. The heat is hard on him, drains every bit of his energy. It makes him heavy-eyed and lazy-limbed, makes him doze at the kitchen table, on the couch, in his narrow bed with his face in his pillow and sweaty sheets twisted around his long, thin legs.

Remus sleeps in tatty shorts that hang loose on his hips and stop just shy of his dirty, knobby knees. His chest is pale, scars shining pearly white under a sheen of sweat, and his shoulders are just barely browned from the sun, dusted with freckles Sirius can only see if he squints.

At night, Sirius' bed is a lumpy mattress shoved between Remus' bed and the wall. But some afternoons, when Remus' dad is at work and his mum is in the garden trying to make vegetables grow without water, Sirius crawls in next to Remus, his heart hammering, his breathing shallow and quick. 

He wants so badly to touch, to trace the curve of Remus' shoulder and hide his fingers in the crook of Remus' elbow. He wants to wrap his arm around Remus' waist and feel the heat of his body under the palm of his hand, wants Remus to smile and murmur his name in a thick, sleepy voice and kiss the corner of his mouth. 

He wonders what Remus' hair would feel like tangled in his hands, what red gold brown grey would look like twisted around his fingers. He imagines Remus would taste of salt and sweat, possibly grass, or maybe even moonlight, anything but the thin layer of ash that seems to cover everything on the island.

Sirius watches the first flash of lightning from his mattress on the floor, propped up on his elbows as blinding white bolts paint his body through dusty glass. The hot, hateful sun has dipped below the horizon, allowing the lightning to dance over a blank, black canvas, and the thick, jagged streaks make Sirius think the sky is breaking open. 

A roll of thunder marches its way across the sky, rattling the house like a toy, and Remus jolts awake with a sleepy noise and Sirius' name on his lips. Sirius is silent, unable to form words, any words at all, and when Remus slides down, curling up behind him on his mattress, Sirius finds he can't breathe. 

The rain hits hard and fast, fat drops that beat against the window with a dull, tapping sound. Sirius watches it fall with Remus' head resting on his shoulder and Remus' fingers tangled with his.


	4. i. want. just.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _melted ice cream_.

Remus' mum has a Muggle ice cream machine, which looks a bit like a wooden bucket with a crank on the side. Sirius is not quite sure how ice, sugar and milk are going to become ice cream without magic, but Remus' mum just smiles and Remus' tongue darts out to wet his lips as she pulls open the lid. 

She slices peaches to put in it, ripe, round things that explode on Sirius' tongue and seem to melt in his mouth with each bite. They are not quite soft and have bright, blood-red spots, and Sirius likes the crisp sound of Remus' teeth piercing the thin, velvet skin. 

Juice runs down Remus' chin and hands, sticky and wet, trapped in the creases of his knuckles and hiding in the corners of his mouth. He talks to Sirius as his mum turns the crank, and Sirius finds the sight of Remus' tongue twisting around his fingers between each word far more fascinating that the mystery of Muggle ice cream. 

Sirius isn't sure -- it might be the heat, humid and horrid and befuddling -- but he thinks he might want that tongue in his mouth. On his body. Somewhere. He doesn't know. Just.

It's served in chipped, white bowls painted with tiny blue flowers, and it's tinted a shade of orange so pale it's almost pink. Chunks of peach dot the surface of the scoops, soft, yellowish and sweeter now after being mixed with sugar and cream. 

Remus eats his delicately, spoon carving small, polite bites from each scoop, but the ice cream betrays him, painting his tongue white. It escapes him, running to join the peach juice in the corners of his mouth, waiting for his tongue on the curve of his lower lip. 

Sirius ignores his own to watch Remus, lets it melt into a sticky lake in the bottom of his bowl, blue flowers drowning in a milky, peaches-and-cream soup. He stares, helpless and unblinking, at the way Remus' mouth parts before each bite, his tongue teasing the bottom of the spoon, the way his throat works when he swallows.

He thinks he might want to kiss that throat, have that skin under his lips. Teeth. He thinks he should pull Remus close and lick the sticky mess off his fingers and face. Maybe. 

Remus frowns at the mess in Sirius' bowl, eyes brown like the parched hillsides peeking through the window. You don't want your ice cream, he asks, curious, almost disappointed, but Sirius doesn't understand the question, hears sounds not words, and says no. You, just. I.

I want you, Sirius thinks, but those aren't words either, just hitched breaths wrapped around an emotion Sirius can't place. Remus frowns again and brings the bowl toward him, poking at the melted lumps experimentally with his spoon, and Sirius reaches for it, hand stopping just shy and falling limply on the table. I want that, Sirius thinks, on you. I want it on you. 

I want you on me on you.


	5. lake water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _a picture of two boys fishing_.

There's laughter in his eyes when he says you're hopeless, Sirius, hopeless, and amusement is curled thickly around his voice.

Sirius, of course, resembles this remark as much as he resents it, so he responds by casting a line with no hook for the fourth time and working himself into a snit. Remus is unmoved (Sirius has several levels of snit; this one's about middling in comparison and looks like it will probably be short lived) because he's been on the receiving end of similar snits on more than one occasion. 

Remus has learned, in the last six years, that the best course of action is no action at all. 

But the beauty of the sun glittering off the lake and the delicate shadows of the willows is tarnished by Sirius' narrowed silver eyes, and Remus swears he can hear Sirius grinding his teeth, which is ruining the near-perfect quiet.

Somewhere between huffed breath twenty-six and thirty-one and after heavy sigh number four, Remus (tired, and short on patience due to the heat) snaps and shoves Sirius into the lake.

Sirius always does things with a fluid grace that Remus envies and wishes he possessed himself, but not this. Not _this_. Hew flails over the splintered railing of the bridge, thrashes when he hits the water. The lake is green and brackish, and when Sirius' arm breaks the surface it's strewn with reeds.

Remus realises belatedly that Sirius can't swim, but the panic that kindles in his belly is fleeting and quick. The lake is shallow (knee-deep at best, hip-deep at worst), and the laws of nature suggest Padfoot can tread water even if Sirius can't.

The water ripples as skin changes to black fur. Remus lies down under one of the willows and closes his eyes.

He wakes with a lapful of wet dog, lake water soaking his trousers, damp fur sticking to his chest in thick, reed-woven strands. In the confusion of sleep he decides he's done nothing to deserve this, but Padfoot his heavy, and determined, and pushing him off doesn't quite seem worth the energy. 

I'm not petting you, Remus thinks, and he means it. Padfoot is soggy and he brought half the moss in the lake with him. I'm not petting you, he thinks, even if you whine.

Remus closes his eyes again, but with a change weight and pressure the nose pushed under his jaw is dry, human. Lips slide over his neck, a tongue just peeking out between then. Remus sighs, and strokes Sirius' hair, fingers tangling in a mess of weeds and black silk. 

Their kisses taste like lake water; sour, stale, perfect.

You're still hopeless, Remus says, against Sirius' mouth. _Hopeless_.


	6. inkling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _a picture of a white sand beach_

The heat has subsided, now that the sun has slipped below the horizon. A sea breeze chills the air and the sand is cool under Remus' bare feet, and he warms himself in front of the bonfire. It crackles merrily, red and orange and yellow, painting Lily and James the same way the sky had bled at sunset.

Peter's too far from the fire, his face hidden in shadow. His girlfriend (Natalie, Remus thinks) is tucked close to him, her head resting on his shoulder. They whisper quietly, just as James and Lily do, their words carried out to sea on a soft, salt wind.

Sirius casts a long shadow as he approaches, an inky wraith that slips just past Remus' knee. The fire casts Sirius in a golden glow, and the stars shine behind him, bright and silver, making him seem unreal, otherworldly. His pants are cuffed at the knee, white sand clinging to his skin, and his hair is as wild and untamed as he is himself.

Remus shifts to the side to give Sirius room to sit, but Sirius smiles down at him and extends a hand. 

"Play with me, Moony," Sirius says, sounding for all the world like he's nine instead of nineteen.

He glances at Peter and possibly-Natalie, who are about a heartbeat from snogging, then at James and Lily. Her face is lost in James' neck, hidden under a cloud of red hair, but James is looking at him. His smile is a bit too arch, but Remus ignores it, and accepts Sirius' hand. 

Sirius doesn't let go, even after Remus is on his feet, tangling their fingers together as they walk toward the water. Remus shivers when they reach the tide line, from the breeze and the wet sand crumbling under the pressure of his toes. Sirius releases his hand to wrap his arm around Remus' shoulder, turning Remus to face him.

Remus isn't doesn't know what to think of this sudden closeness. Sirius has always been demonstrative, free with hugs and pats on the back and cuffs to the head, but this is different. This is slow, lingering, and it makes Remus warm in ways Sirius probably doesn't expect. 

A wolf-whistle sounds from James' direction, loud and shrill in the stillness, and Sirius responds with a rude gesture before resting his hand on Remus' arm.

"What's he on about?" Remus asks. _What are you on about_.

"He thinks I'll chicken out," Sirius says. 

"What?" 

Sirius kisses him, warm hands cradling his face. A slick tongue nudges at Remus' lips, and his mouth falls open in surprise, allowing it. He's wanted this, Sirius, here, like this, and his mind reels, his fingers clutching at Sirius' shoulders to keep himself upright.

James whistles again, breaking the spell, and Remus is suddenly hurt, angry. 

"He dared you, then?" Remus asks, stepping back."

"No," Sirius says. He catches Remus in his arms, pulling him back. "He made me promise."

"Promise what?" Remus asks. Sirius' arms around him are comforting, even if Remus doesn't want them to be.

"He made me promise I'd tell you," Sirius says. He presses close, his lips grazing Remus ear. "He said if I didn't tell you tonight, he'd tell you, himself."

"Tell me what?"

Sirius kisses him again. It's just as sweet and slow, but it's hungry underneath, desperate, a hot slide of lips and tongue, and Remus understands.


	7. wedding in ruins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _a picture of ruins_

Sirius seems to find it amusing, that a wedding he's (secretly) opposed to is being held in a place that's in ruins. He says it's an omen, a portent, a testament to the decay festering in (Evans' heart) James' (ill-advised) relationship.

Remus says he's being dramatic, although this is not unusual for Sirius. He's always dramatic, especially where (James) Evans is concerned. Remus doesn't say it out loud, but he thinks a wedding staged amidst tumbling stone and climbing vines is (sickeningly) romantic.

James and Lily speak the words in front of a small section of standing wall, and their families and friends watch from conjured, white wicker chairs. The arch behind them looks like stained glass -- a brilliant blue sky, cloud-strewn and sun-streaked, and Remus thinks it's the most beautiful think he's ever seen.

After the ceremony, Remus finds Sirius in the crumbling remains of an alcove, leaning against a wall older than time with a bottle of Firewhisky in his hand. Remus studies Sirius -- gold skin and dark hair against sun-bleached stone that's held together by ivy and (possibly) the hand of God -- and thinks he looks out of place, lost.

Sirius grumbles about the food, and his Muggle suit, then grumbles about the ceremony (pointless hassle and bollocks, and who needs that anyway, Moony?). 

I don't, Remus says. I have you, and that's enough.

Sirius smiles then, almost shyly, the same kind of smile he'd given Remus after the first time they kissed. He stands, Firewhisky bottle in hand, and walks with Remus, picking a careful path through the tumbled stone.

James and Lily thank the guests against a sky bleeding red and gold. They make a striking couple, and after a quick kiss from Remus and another shot of Firewhisky, Sirius is willing to admit it (It's not that I think she's a bad sort, Moony, I just think she should lighten up once and a while). 

Sirius moves behind Remus, looming like a shadow. His chin digs into Remus' shoulder (I love you) and he drops his hand to tangle their fingers (I always have). He presses close (mine) and hides a kiss behind Remus' ear (yours).


	8. missives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I have waited for you here_  
>  On the moist edges of daybreak  
> And saw how you arrived holding sway over everything  
> \-- David Huerta (translation unknown)

Sirius writes Remus at breakfast. His parchment is squeezed between his plate and the jar of jam, and it hangs off the table, reaching lengths his school essays have never seen. He spills eggs in his lap while trying to navigate his fork to his mouth without looking at it, and James rolls his eyes when Sirius charms the greasy fingerprints away.

He's been at James' two weeks, and he's written Remus each day. Remus, not to be outdone, as matched him word for word every single night. The letters have interrupted naps under the elm in the back garden and have stopped Sirius dead in the middle of planning next terms pranks, mayhem and Slytherin-torture.

Remus' reply arrives after lunch, and Sirius starts another letter before dinner. Irritated, and in a fit of pity for Remus' balding, elderly owl, James tells Sirius just to invite him up and be done.

Sirius doesn't think Remus' mum will go for it, but he writes him anyway, scratching three quick lines on his parchment and tossing Remus' owl out the window. Remus' answer comes just as James is crawling into bed. Against all odds, Remus' mum has agreed, and he'll be coming through the Floo in the morning.

James wakes thirsty at half seven, and he wanders sleepily into the kitchen for a glass of water. He finds Sirius curled up in the sitting room window-seat, his head resting against the pane, his breath fogging the glass grey. 

It's a private vigil of sleepy eyes and arms hugged around skinned knees, and James feels like he's intruding.

Remus picks that moment to come crashing through the Floo, materialising in a swirl of green flames and a cloud of soot. Sirius unfolds at once, sliding off the window-seat, and he breaks into the first genuine smile James has seen since Sirius left London behind.


	9. smoke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Illicit substances_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (warning: recreational drug use)

The porch swing creaks ominously as it moves, and the plastic cushion is scratchy against Remus' legs. It's older than Remus' memory, if not older than Remus himself, and it's not quite large enough for he and Sirius both.

Sirius is pressed against Remus at the shoulder and thigh, sweaty skin and damp clothes, and he seems unable to keep his elbows to himself. He's staring at nothing, spliff trapped between his lips, eyes slitted against the smoke curling around his face.

It's cooled down a bit, now that the sun has set, but it's still too hot for this kind of closeness. Remus can feel Sirius move, breathe, and it's frustrating, makes him too aware. The air is heavy, threatening a summer shower, tomorrow, maybe next week, and Remus feels claustrophobic.

Sirius stretches, making the swing shriek in protest. He offers Remus the spliff, and Remus takes it with careful fingers. The end is wet, and the thin paper sticks to Remus' skin, his lower lip.

Remus inhales slowly, savoring the heavy, earthy taste he's finally grown used to. The smoke clings to his tongue, hanging thickly in the back of his throat, and heat spreads slowly through his chest.

He looks up and finds Sirius watching him, head tilted to one side.

"What?" Remus asks. His voice is tight, and smoke trails out of his mouth.

"Nothing," Sirius replies, smiling.

Sirius ducks his head just as Remus exhales, sucking the soft white cloud into his mouth. Remus flushes at the sudden proximity, at Sirius' lips so close to his. He leans in, unable to stop himself, and his tongue darts out to taste the corner of Sirius' mouth.

He closes his eyes as soon as he realises what he's done, pulling away, but there is no where to go, and Sirius' hand is in his hair. When he dares to look, Sirius is watching him, his eyes dark, his lower lip between his teeth. 

"Sirius," he says quietly. "I--"

"Shut up, Moony."

Sirius is close again, and his tongue flicks out, just like Remus' did, nudging the corner of Remus' mouth, then swiping over his lips. Remus gasps, confused, unsure, still claustrophobic, and Sirius' tongue sneaks inside his mouth like a thief.

The kiss is careful and slow, lips sliding together lightly, tongues barely brushing, but it burns through Remus' body like the smoke. He feels the same tightness in his chest, an ache so fierce he can't breathe.

"Sirius?" Remus says again.

"I said shut up, Moony," Sirius says. He mumbles the words against Remus mouth, then slides his lips over Remus' jaw. "I want this. Have wanted it, and you're going to let me."

Sirius' palm is hot against his cheek, and in spite of himself, Remus melts into it. Part of him worries it's just the smoke, but Sirius' thumb strokes his skin gently, and Remus decides to believe it's not.


	10. bait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _a picture of a dog and a crab on a pier_

The sky is cloudless, and the sun shimmers, naked and yellow. Remus is hot, his skin crisp and pink, and the rough wood of the dock cooks the soles of his feet. Just in front of him, Padfoot plays like a child, wonder and excitement wrapped inside thick black fur. 

He noses at a crab stranded on the dock, growling softly when it snaps its pincers with a sharp, clicking sound. He bats at it with a big, clumsy paw, flipping it on its back, and the poor thing struggles to put itself upright, pinkish-red legs flailing uselessly. 

Remus sits in front of a sun-bleached bait shop that promises worms in two sizes of pails. The wall is warm against his back, and he tucks his legs close to his body to fit inside the thin strip of shade it affords. He wonders if this is where the crab came from, if it had been making a renegade run back to the water when it became Padfoot's newest toy. 

It returns to its little feet after swipe from Padfoot's paw. Remus expects it to run, but it makes a stand of sorts, rounding on Padfoot with all the ferocity something four inches wide and an inch off the ground can muster. Its almost the color of Padfoot's tongue, and its claws glint dangerously in the sun. 

Padfoot sniffs at it, growling. He backs away a bit, then prances around it to attack from the other side. A seagull swoops over Remus' head, and its screech drowns out the sound of snapping pincers and claws scratching splintered wood.

"Padfoot," Remus warns. Padfoot looks up, his large, round eyes intent, and whines. Remus pats his knee and Padfoot trots over. He whines again, and noses at the hem of Remus' swimmers.

Remus pets him, fingers swallowed by black fur, warm under his fingers. Padfoot huffs, pleading his case in the secret language of dogs, then settles between Remus' legs, his head heavy on Remus' thigh.

"You're free," Remus tells the crab, but it does not listen. It stays, surrounded by trampling feet and sunlight. Remus tosses a rock at it, which hits the dock with a dull noise. The crab quivers, then scuttles toward freedom, and Remus wonders if it will make it back to the ocean, if it will one day become part of someone's seafood basket.

The shadow of the bait shop cuts Padfoot in half. Remus pets him, fingers tracing the line where the sunlight begins. He lets his head fall back against the wall, and he's debating the pros and cons of a nap in the sand when he suddenly has a lapful of Sirius.

"You never let me have any fun," Sirius laments. He worms further between Remus' legs, and leans in, his back pressed against Remus' chest. 

"You've never learned to have fun without endangering yourself," Remus replies. "Or others."

"I wasn't endangering myself," Sirius says. His hand drifts over Remus' knee. "I was hunting. I'm hungry."

"There's fish and chips for sale at the end of the dock," Remus says. 

Sirius snorts, his head dropping onto Remus' shoulder. Remus thinks it's too hot for that, but his complaints are lost in Sirius' lips ghosting over the line of his jaw. He presses a kiss to the top of Sirius' head, and drifts a hand over the sweaty skin of Sirius' arm.


	11. sunrise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The sun rose higher. Blue waves, green waves swept a quick fan over the beach, circling the spike of sea-holly and leaving shallow pools of light here and there on the sand_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (warning: adult content)

They sit shoulder to shoulder, cold sand between their toes, and the water encroaches slowly, coming closer with the break of each shadowed wave. Sirius sways, his body heavy with sleep. He lets his head rest on Remus, yawning, his eyes sliding closed.

Remus has never watched the sun rise. He has vague recollections of black skies burning to purple, bleeding red and orange as bones snapped and skin reformed, but he's never watched. He, _Remus_ , has never seen. 

Sirius' head nods, then he wakes with a murmur. He glances at Remus, smiling, and reaches for Remus' hand. He pulls it in his lap, playing with Remus' fingers, tracing the curves and grooves of Remus' knuckles, testing the sharpness of his fingernails.

There is a glimmer of hope on the horizon, a soft shimmer that could be the sun. Remus leans forward, waiting. Sirius breathes, the waves crash, and everything is still, silent.

Sirius noses at his neck, lips brushing over skin pebbled from the sea breeze and the night's chill. Sirius' hand disappears under Remus shirt, fingers almost cold as they map out his scars, count the knobs of his spine.

Remus melts into the sand slowly, coaxed down by tiredness and the weight of Sirius' body. He mumbles vague protests about people and the sunrise, but Sirius quiets him with kisses, assures him they are alone, that there is plenty of time before the sun shows its face.

He licks his way into Remus' mouth, hands cradling Remus' face, thumbs sweeping over the swells of his cheeks. Heat floods Remus' body, chasing away the chill on his skin, his blood rushing fast, furious, craving Sirius' touch.

Sirius presses close, pushing Remus into the sand, and he whispers dirty things in Remus' ear, things that can't possibly be true. But they must be, because Sirius is hard, and Sirius is slowly rubbing himself against Remus' hip.

Remus slips his hands under Sirius' shirt, savoring the soft heat of his skin. He traces the sharp lines of Sirius' ribs, sweeps over the flat plane of his belly, flicks his thumbs over hardened nipples until Sirius moans low against his neck.

He rucks up Sirius' shirt, wanting more, wanting to feel the rough slide of skin against skin. He pulls at Sirius' flies until Sirius' cock is in his hand, hot and hard, until Sirius is thrusting into it and whispering his name. 

Sirius cups Remus through his jeans, teasing with the heel of his hand, slipping it inside when Remus arches and whispers please against his mouth. He kisses Remus then, slow and molten, a liquid tangle of tongue that leaves Remus shaking in the sand. 

Heat courses through Remus' body, his blood singing under his skin, pleasure building and coiling with each pull of Sirius' hand. The sky stretches above them, black fading to purple, and Remus is breathless, tumbling over the edge as it flares pink and red and orange.

Sirius shudders, coming warm and wet in Remus' hand. He murmurs Remus' name, tongue heavy and thick with release, and presses sleepy, sated kisses along the line of Remus' jaw. Remus threads his fingers through Sirius' hair, watching as the ocean washes in to reclaim the sand.

A seagull screeches, shrill over the dull roar of breaking waves. The water shines in the sun, flickering blue and green, bruised by the seaweed lurking under the surface. Sirius shifts against him, and Remus closes his eyes.


	12. of chicken dinners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The solemn light behind the barns,_  
>  The rising moon, the cricket's call,  
> The August night, and you and I—
> 
>  
> 
> _from, "August Moonlight", by Richard le Gallienne._

Sirius tumbles through the Lupin's Floo just after eating breakfast. He smells bacon and eggs as he brushes the soot from his clothes, and he walks into the tiny square of space that serves as a dining room to find Remus' parents smiling and Remus hiding behind his tea.

The Lupin's house is small and poky. The paint is peeling off the outside walls, and the roof sags precariously over the porch. Remus seems embarrassed of it, and he watches Sirius almost expectantly as he noses around the handful of nooks and crannies. Sirius smiles, curling his toes in the balding, vaguely tan carpet, and tells Remus he thinks it's brilliant. 

And it is brilliant, from the crinkled wallpaper to the knitted blanket tossed over the couch to Remus' prefects letter in a frame. Sirius looks at the marks on the kitchen doorjamb that gauge Remus' height over the years, and wonders if that is what makes the difference between a house and a home.

Dinner is chicken, not chicken produced by House-elves but chicken cooked by Remus mum, chicken Remus and Sirius had helped Remus' dad catch. It's fresh, with skin that is golden and crisp, and Sirius thinks he's never tasted anything better.

There is a building outside, which would look exactly like the house it if had a chimney and porch. Remus names it a barn, and Sirius believes him, even if it doesn't look like the red, domed things he's seen in Marlene McKinnon's Muggle Studies book. They sit against the wall of it, bare feet lost in prickly grass, crickets chirping in their ears.

The small shed across from the barn is fixed with a monstrous lock and heavy chains. The moon shines down on it, silver and looming and a few days from full, and Sirius realises why the Lupins had been so nervous about him visiting.

"I'm staying," Sirius says suddenly. "For the moon."

"You can't," Remus says. He sounds weary, as if the moon is already working its poison on him, as if he anticipated this conversation.

"Of course I can."

"You can't," Remus repeats, sighing. "My parents don't know you know. They'd be very upset. I promised them I'd never tell anyone."

"You didn't tell," Sirius argues. He unearths a long weed from the rough dirt and twirls it between his fingers. "We figured it out. That's not the same at all."

"Sirius."

"They don't have to know I'm here," Sirius insists. "Padfoot can hide in the..." he trails off, gesturing toward the barn. "The one with the animals in it."

"The barn?" 

"That's it," Sirius says, tapping Remus' leg with the weed. "The barn. I'll hide out until moonrise, then I can stay with you."

"What if they see you in the morning?" Remus asks. 

"I'll tell them I came back." Sirius says simply.

"For what?"

"The chicken," Sirius says, and Remus laughs. "It was very good chicken," he adds, but his hand falls on Remus' knee.


	13. fortunes told, secrets revealed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _We were born before the wind_  
>  Also younger than the sun  
> Ere the bonnie boat was won as we sailed into the mystic
> 
>  
> 
> _\- Van Morrison, 'Into the Mystic'._

The sun has long since set, and the sky now is dark, star-speckled, but the air is still warm, stifling. Music curls around the boardwalk, made by a young man sitting outside the one of the shop with a guitar across his lap. There is next to him, with dreamy eyes and long, brown hair, and she rustles a tambourine against her knee in a rhythm that is all her own. 

Lanterns flicker on the boardwalk, vying with the starlight for attention, and it bathes Sirius in red and gold. Remus dressed himself for this excursion, well-worn jeans and an untucked button-down, but Sirius is in little more than the swimmers he wore earlier to the water. Remus can't help but stare at his nakedness, and he fancies he'd find salt on Sirius' skin if he was ever allowed to taste. 

Sirius pauses in front of a vendor selling jewelry from a rickety cart, hands lingering over silver bracelets and gold earrings, fingers testing the smoothness of strung shells, and Remus wonders if he has a girlfriend he's not mentioned. The thought twists in Remus' stomach, sits sour on his tongue, and he leads Sirius away by the elbow, even though it hurts more to touch.

Fingers catch on his sleeve, stopping him in front of the chip shop. Remus twists his hand as he pulls away, brushing their fingers together, wanting the excuse to touch Sirius' skin. He waves off Sirius' offer of chips and Muggle pop. It's not food he wants, or Sirius' money, but _Sirius_.

The light fails as the boardwalk stretches out into the water, and the shops have the dirty, shabby look of places that don't get much foot traffic. Sirius turns to start back toward the beach, but Remus pauses, studying a pink and blue sign hanging over a small, shack of a shop.

_Madam Zamora_  
Fortunes Told  
Secrets Revealed 

Remus has never put much stock in Divs, not after James and Sirius pulled good marks with fabricated star charts and journals full of bollocks dreams. But right now, in a flyspeck of a beach town wrapped in a lethargy that's almost magic, Remus thinks maybe, just once, some stones or Tarot cards could tell him something, thinks maybe, just once, he can believe.

"What?" Sirius asks. 

"Let's go in," Remus says. He glances at the sign again, because he can't quite meet Sirius' eyes.

"In there?" Sirius asks. " _You_ want your fortune told?" He snorts, and nudges Remus in the arm. "You're taking the piss."

"I want to," Remus says. "I've never had it done."

"I told yours all the time in school," Sirius argues. "James did, too."

"I've never had it done properly," Remus clarifies. He gives Sirius a lofty look, and Sirius snorts.

"Here, I'll do it now," Sirius says, snatching up Remus' hand. " _Properly._ "

He cradles Remus' hand in both of his, and strokes Remus' palm with his thumbs. The touch is light, teasing, so barely-there is almost tickles but not quite, and Remus feels himself warm, feels his face flush.

"Your lifeline is long," Sirius says. He traces it with his thumbnail, and heat flares under Remus' skin in its wake. 

"Long?" Remus repeats. His voice is thin, needy, and he hates it.

"Yeah," Sirius says, "But it's a bit choppy." He traces each crisscrossing line with his finger, and Remus gasps. "Bad health, continuous illness."

"You know that already," Remus mumbles. He tries to pull his hand away, before he does something with it he and Sirius will both regret, but Sirius holds him fast by the wrist.

"Here, I haven't done your loveline yet," Sirius says. He turns Remus' hand back over, smoothing out his fingers.

"You'll give me the same rubbish you gave me for my lifeline."

"Nah," Sirius says. "All true." He leans in, holding Remus' hand close to his face. He stares at it for a long time, silent, and Remus starts to feel anxious, from both the proximity and the feel of Sirius' fingers on his skin.

"What's it say?" Remus asks finally. 

"It says you love someone," Sirius says quietly. "It says you love someone, but you won't tell them, because you think they don't love you back."

"Sirius."

"They do, though," Sirius continues, glancing up. "They've just never said anything, because they are afraid of scaring you off." He steps closer, and Remus sucks in a sharp breath. "And they are awfully tired of waiting."

"Sirius," Remus says quietly. "That's not funny."

"I'm not being funny," Sirius says, dropping Remus' hand to cup his cheek. "It also says you should kiss me now."

Remus is scared, unsure, but Sirius' eyes are dark, intent, and Remus suddenly can't say no. He leans in, presses his lips to Sirius', and believes.


	14. burnt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _sunburn_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (warning: adult content)

Moony is crisp.

His skin is raw, pink like lobster shells. Sirius' hand hovers just shy of touching, and Remus' body heats it like a fire. Remus glowers at Sirius' amusement, a look that lacks true fearsomeness because of the apple-red color of his cheeks.

Sirius lightly touches a finger to Remus' belly, watching the redness flee in the face of the soft pressure. He does it again and again, trailing explosions of white around Remus' navel, until Remus makes a growly sound and bats his hand away.

Remus fumbles with a tube of Muggle sunburn ointment, twisting the cap with fingers that are as clumsy as they are pink. Sirius plucks it from Remus' fingers with a sigh and squeezes a considerable amount of the green stuff in his hands.

He starts at Remus' wrists, laying his hands just over the bones, and Remus jerks at the sudden coolness. Sirius works the stuff into Remus' skin in soft, small circles, up his arms and over the curve of his shoulders, laughing as it tinges Moony green.

Sirius smooths his hands over Remus' collarbone, then down his chest, tracing his thumbs around his nipples. Remus moans quietly, his eyes slide closed, arching slightly off the bed as Sirius' fingers flick over them. Sirius continues down, hands trailing over Remus' sides, circling around his navel, following the line of hair that leads to the whiteness left by Remus' swimmers.

Remus is shaking when Sirius' hand wraps around his cock, as much from his fevered skin as Sirius' touch, and Sirius smiles. He loves to see Remus like this, needy, wanting, boneless, _helpless_.

He strokes Remus slowly, listening to his hitched breaths, to the low moans rumbling in the back of his throat. He watches Remus' face, watches the way his eyelashes flutter, the way his lower lip catches between his teeth, and Sirius' hand moves faster, his desire to tease Remus outweighed by his need to see Remus come.

And Remus does, his hips snapping off the bed, murmuring Sirius' name as he spills over Sirius' fingers. Sirius touches himself then, rubbing himself through his swimmers, tumbling over the edge after just a few squeezes of his hand.

Remus smiles, making a sleepy sound, and Sirius snorts, swatting at some of the white skin on his thigh.

"You can't sleep yet," Sirius says.

"Tired," Remus mumbles. "Too much sun, and then you mauled me."

"I did," Sirius says. "And I plan to do it again."

"Now?" Remus asks. 

"Yes, now," Sirius says, reaching for the green Muggle goo. "Right after I do your legs."


	15. candy floss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _a picture of a ferris wheel at a carnival_

The fair is loud and confusing, awash in cold pink and blue light that matches the candy floss and argues with the thick, stifling heat. Sirius' eyes are bright and dangerous, glittering with mischief. He's in his element here, brought to life by this chaos and disorder strung together by lights and sound.

He pulls Remus from ride to ride, whooping as in Remus' ear as rocket ships spin and pirate ships swing in the air. Remus staggers after him as he dashes to the next, his stomach churning around corndogs and caramel apples.

"Please, Moony," Sirius says. The ferris wheel looms tall and menacing behind him, beckoning Remus with creaking gears and twinkling lights. Remus shakes his head, firmly; this is one death-defying act Sirius will have to perform alone.

Sirius disappears in the midway, slipping through the crowd like a fish, and Remus finds him chatting up the girl running the game with the milk bottles and a ball. Remus watches for a moment, then turns, because her tinkling laugh hurts his ears, because Sirius' broad smile cuts like a knife.

He hides from Sirius at the concession stand, hoping Sirius has had his fill of licorice ropes and coloured popcorn. The smell of grease and sugar sours his already unsettled stomach, and for a moment, he wonders why Sirius even brought him at all.

Sirius appears quickly, almost so quickly that Remus has hope, but Sirius' smile is too lazy, too bright, and Remus' heart sinks. He braces himself for what is to come -- ruby-red marks peeking out of Sirius' collar, lengthy descriptions about the girl's hands and mouth.

"Where did you go?" Sirius asks. 

"I thought I'd leave you alone," Remus replies. Sirius' arms are twisted oddly behind his back, and Remus leans to look around him, but Sirius shifts his body to block it. "With the, um, girl."

"What girl?" Sirius asks. "The bird at the game?" Sirius throws back his head, laughing, and Remus watches the line of his throat. "Close your eyes."

"What?" Remus asks. Sirius is lying, he thinks, about the girl, but he's honestly grateful that Sirius has changed the subject.

"Close your eyes," Sirius says again. He leans close, his breath ghosting over Remus' ear, and Remus shivers. "C'mon, Moony."

Remus does, because telling Sirius no is nearly impossible, because denying Sirius the ferris wheel had almost been more than he could bear. Something soft hits him in the gut, then there is a hand on his arm, bring it up until his fingers brush scratchy fur.

He opens his eyes to a large, stuffed dog with shiny glass eyes and red plastic collar. It's a cheap, carnival animal, but it's Padfoot, black and nearly hip-high, and it came from Sirius.

"We're going on the big wheel now," Sirius declares. "Just once."

"All right," Remus says, weakened. "All right."

"I didn't, you know," Sirius says. "With that bird from the game."

"No?" 

"No," Sirius says. He throws an arm around Remus' shoulder, and his hand brushes through Remus' hair on the way. "I'm here with you."


	16. fools

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He stretched out his hand desperately as if to snatch only a wisp of air, to save a fragment of the spot that [he] had made lovely for him. But it was all going by too fast now for his blurred eyes and he knew that he had lost that part of it, the freshest and the best, forever._
> 
>  
> 
> _\-- F.S. Fitzgerald, the Great Gatsby (ch 8)_

Lily thinks James Potter is arrogant, a rude, mean-spirited prat who thinks far too highly of himself. She finds his constant plays for her attention childish and tiresome, and she's sure he only persists because she's one of the few girls in school that will not give him the time of day. 

She's almost sure his invitation for tea is some kind of prank, since the owl is far to polite and coherent for him to have penned it himself, and she doesn't quite understand what finally makes her accept. She tells herself as she braves the Tube and two Floos that she's only going because he's meant to be Head Boy, because she needs to find a way to abide him if they are going to shoulder the responsibility together.

Mrs. Potter is lovely, a woman so sweet, soft-spoken and kind Lily thinks she must have found James on the doorstep in a basket. She smiles at Lily in a way that is almost wistful, and Lily blushes when she says that she's heard so much about her.

White tables sit primly in the garden, shaded by large, white umbrellas that mock the afternoon sun. Lily watches them from the doorway for a moment, watches James cuff Sirius in the head and Sirius tease Peter, watches Peter whisper with Remus and Remus laugh at one of James' jokes.

They seem so different from how they are at school; seem like four boys who enjoy each other's company rather than four troublemakers who wreak havoc on teachers and students alike. She's not quite sure what to think, and for a fleeting moment, she feels terribly out of place.

James stills when he sees her watching, becomes a shadow of himself as she steps outside. He's suddenly quiet, almost subdued, laughing at one of Sirius' jokes in a way that is almost halfhearted. She sits across from him, and he smiles at her carefully, his eyes wide behind his glasses, and Lily feels a sharp pang of guilt in her chest.

Lily thinks of the kiss she'd shared with Remus in the library, clumsy and unspeakably awkward, thinks of how Remus had blushed when he'd said he didn't feel the same way, of how cruelly she'd laughed when he'd insisted James' feelings were true.

She remembers the kiss James and Sirius had shared in the common room, a kiss she'd witnessed from a shadowed staircase. She remembers the openness in Sirius' face, and the strained tone of James' voice when he'd told Sirius he'd wanted someone else, that he couldn't do that to a friend.

Peter excuses himself inside, leaving them two and two. James fusses with his tea, watching her through lowered lashes. Sirius turns to talk to James, his hand falling on James' knee. Remus reaches for the cream, his fingers brushing over Sirius' hand. 

Everything freezes for a moment, quiet and still. Lily takes in the scene before her -- Remus looking at Sirius how Sirius looks at James how James looks at her, how she used to look at Remus and how she sometimes looks at James when no one is around -- and she laughs.

She realises what fools they've been, four people wanting the wrong things, four people chasing their own tails so blindly they've utterly missed the point.

Peter doesn't seem to mind when he comes back to find Lily has taken his seat. James' arm is warm around her shoulders, comforting and sure, and when she sees Sirius' fingers brush through Remus' fringe, she thinks maybe, just maybe, they've finally got it right.


	17. sweet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _blackpool rock_

Remus clutches the thing in a sticky fist, holds it like a sugar lifeline. He gestures with it when he talks, jabbing it in Sirius' direction and waving it under Sirius' nose.

Sirius watches him eat it like he's starving, mouth watering as the thing disappears between his lips. Remus eats it almost solely with his tongue, bright pink and lapping like a cat. Sirius' trousers grow uncomfortably tight, and he wonders if Remus is aware of how he's putting on a show.

Remus' tongue slides up the side, glistening and slow, swirling over the top with a flick. His eyes are closed against the summer sun, hidden under his fringe, and he sucks it into his mouth with a soft, wet sound that makes Sirius feel like he should cover his ears.

Sirius tries to ignore it. He continues his diatribe on Puddlemere's chances of winning the next match with his eyes on his feet, but it doesn't help. He can still hear it, he can still smell it, heavy sweetness clinging to the humid, August air, and he wonders if he could taste it on Remus' tongue.

He nods silently when Remus asks if he wants some, because he's not quite sure what it is he wants, and he watches helplessly as Remus looks around for a way to break it into pieces. Remus stares at it for a moment, teeth creasing his lower lip, and Sirius' reaches out, because he needs to touch.

Sirius' hand curls around Remus' sticky fingers, and he brings it to his mouth, tasting sugar and Remus. Remus watches, eyes wide and lips parted, and Sirius would make as much of a show of it as Remus did, but he shaking too hard to manage it.

Remus pulls his hand back, and Sirius comes with it, unable to stop himself, unable to think. He thinks it was Remus who closed the distance when their lips finally meet, but he's not sure it matters, because Remus tastes like sugar.


	18. plums

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _allergies_

As it turns out, James is allergic to plums.

Remus takes them for Chinese for Sirius' birthday, which seems harmless enough. The place is in Muggle London, done up in paper lanterns and red silk, and the waiter doesn't speak much English. Remus orders some things Sirius can't pronounce, and some things that sound like the punchline of a dirty joke.

The first course is Unidentifiable Meat in Pale Sauce. Remus says it's good, Sirius eyes it warily, as if expecting it to attack, and Peter stabs at it depondently with his eating sticks. James, untrained animal that he is, selects a piece of meat off his plate with his fingers, pops it in his mouth, and proceeds to make a face like a dying Flobberworm.

Remus tells James to quit making a scene, which is rather pointless, as scene-making is the main reason for James' existence. Peter looks concerned when James starts flailing about with his arms, but Sirius is so busy laughing he doesn't realise there is A Problem until James turns a rather unattractive shade of blue.

Sirius hauls James to the loo, while Remus and Peter deal with the cheque, and Apparates to St. Mungos. Sirius is immediately faces with a Mediwitch with a steel-grey bun and a sour face who demands to know What They Ate, and doesn't find his description of the Unidentifiable Meat in Pale Sauce the least bit helpful.

She wisks James away, leaving Sirius to pace in the waiting room. He does it like he does anything else, with everything he has, and he's very nearly worn a trench in the carpet when Remus and Peter arrive. Peter looks terrified, and faffs off after James despite Sirius' warnings about the Mediwitch, and Remus, sighing, sinks into one of the uncomfortable armchairs.

"What do I owe you, for the cheque?" Sirius asks. 

"Nothing," Remus replies, waving him off. 

"Don't give me that, Moony," Sirius snaps. 

"We didn't exactly..." Remus pauses, and makes a vague gesture with his hands. "That is, we, um--"

"You didn't," Sirius says, and Remus blushes to his ears. "You did!"

"Well, we didn't have enough," Remus explains. "An Obliviate at the till seemed quite a bit safer than telling Muggles that you two disappeared into thin air with half our money."

"What happens, at Muggle restaurants, when you don't have enough money?" Sirius asks. He stops pacing, and sits down in the chair next to Remus. 

"They make you wash dishes, I think," Remus replies. He pauses, and chews at his lower lip. "I'm sorry," he adds.

"For what?"

"Well, it's your birthday, and that," Remus says, frowning. "I didn't--"

"Never mind that," Sirius says. "It's not your fault James can't eat like a normal person."

"He really can't," Remus says, snorting. "But still. I wanted to... do something, um, nice for you, and..." 

He blushes again, and Sirius can't help but snicker a little. Remus has never been as talkative as Sirius or James, but when he does talk, he usually very succinct, and Sirius finds this sudden loss for words adorable, in a Moony sort of way. 

"The night is still young," Sirius says. "Once the great prat is done being dramatic, we can, I don't know, nip down to the Three Broomsticks for a pint."

Remus gives him an odd look, eyes half hidden by his fringe, and leans close. His lips part, tongue darting out, and Sirius has just enough time to suck in a sharp breath before Remus is kissing him. 

Sirius has never thought about kissing Remus before, but now that he is, he thinks maybe he should have, because it's brilliant. Remus' lips are warm and soft, and his hand is fisted in Sirius' hair, pulling almost too hard, and Sirius feels himself flush, feels his cock harden.

He reaches out, his hand cupping Remus' cheek, and Remus pulls away. 

"Sorry," Remus says quickly, looking everywhere but Sirius. "I shouldn't have done that," he adds, standing. "I'll just--"

"No you don't," Sirius says. He stands too, and steps close to Remus, grabbing his arm. "Don't you do something like that and just Apparate off."

"But--"

"No," Sirius repeats firmly. He leans in, and brushes his fingers through Remus' fringe. "Do it again."

"Sirius," Remus mumbles. He tries to tug his arm away, but Sirius twists his fingers harder in the sleeve of his shirt. 

"Do it again," Sirius says. "It's my birthday, and I want you to, so you have to."

"You want me to."

Sirius sighs, and kisses Remus himself, because it's clear Remus wants to be all talk and no play, and Sirius isn't having with that. It's just a brilliant as before, even moreso, because Remus isn't nervous anymore. He kisses Sirius hard, one hand in his hair and the other curled around his neck, and his tongue is everywhere, just _everywhere_. 

"Oh my God!"

James is in the doorway of the waiting room, flanked by Peter and the Mediwitch. He looks healthy, aside from being a bit peaky, but his eyes look fit to fall out of his head. Peter is making a face like a dying Flobberworm now, but he's not turning blue, so Sirius doesn't worry.

"James," Sirius says. He doesn't remember putting his hand on Remus' arse, but there it is, and James is positively staring. 

"I was dying," James says peevishly. " _Dying_ , and you were out here snogging."

"Dying," the Mediwitch snorts. "Allergic to plums, more like.

"Plums?" Sirius asks. 

"Plum sauce," Remus mutters. "On the food."

"So he'll live, then?"

James puts the back of his hand to his forehead and attempts to look piteous, but the Mediwitch nods. 

"Brilliant!" Sirius declares. "We're off, then."

"Where are we going?" Peter asks. He glances at between Remus and Sirius with a baffled expression, and he doesn't sound like he wants to know.

"The Three Broomsticks," Sirius says. 

"You're not going to eat each other's faces at the table, are you?" James asks. 

"Nah," Sirius says. Remus looks crestfallen, but Sirius smiles. "That's what the loo is for."


	19. always

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _nightswimming_

The lake swirls around them, black and cool, moonlight painting a silver stripe across the surface of the water. This late, the heat has finally abated, and the night air is light and pleasant.

Remus is down to his y-fronts, grateful for the darkness covering his scars, but Sirius is naked, unashamed. He slips through the water quick as a fish, disappearing here, resurfacing there, circling Remus like a shark, and Remus can't help but watch.

He thinks nervously of the clumsy kisses they shared a few weeks past, an incident fueled by alcohol and interrupted by Sirius' stomach mutiny against it. They've not discussed it, not a word, not even a hint, and while Remus knows it is probably better this way, he pokes at the memory like a sore tooth. 

Sirius sinks underwater, breaking the surfaces just behind Remus. His large hands are cold and wet and against Remus' back, but Remus' body flushes, and he can't make himself twist away from the touch, even though he knows Sirius is only going to push him under.

The water is stale and brackish on Remus' tongue, and Sirius laughs as Remus sputters. He splashes at Sirius, a sharp wall of water that Sirius avoids smoothly, then unseen hands are tugging at Remus' legs, stronger than an undertow.

Remus' knees buckle under the pressure of Sirius' hands, and he falls backward, the water rippling darkly around him. Strong hands catch him under the arms, setting him on his feet, and through the water dripping into his eyes, he sees Sirius, wet, naked and close.

Sirius' kisses taste like lake water, and Remus can't breathe, feels like he's drowning. There's no Firewhisky to blame this time, there's only them, and the silence settling over the lake as the water stills. Remus panics, torn between allowing himself to have what he wants and twisting away because he's not sure it's real.

Silence stretches between them as Sirius pulls away, and Remus waits, terrified, knowing the next thing Sirius says will make or break his heart. 

"I meant it, you know, the other night," Sirius says finally. His hand drifts to Remus' face, fingers tracing the swell of his cheek. 

"You didn't say anything, after," Remus says. Sirius' hand is warm, and Remus wants it to stay there forever.

"I couldn't," Sirius mumbles. "I didn't know how." He pauses, his thumb brushing over Remus' lips. "I didn't know if you wanted me to."

"Always," Remus says, kissing him. "Always."


	20. after the flood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Let's lay our bad day down here, dear, and make-believe we're strong. Or hum some protest song, like maybe "We Shall Overcome Someday," overcome the stupid things we say. Say I needed more than this, say I needed one more kiss_
> 
>  
> 
> _\--the Weakerthans, Confessions of a Futon Revolutionist_

The summer of 1976 brings heat, heat and heat, and the earth is cracked and raw like blistered skin, fissures yawning deep at a dazzling yellow sun. Plants are yellows, brittle, burnt, and the air is so sharp and dry it hurts to breath, scraping noses and throats like glass.

There's an anticipatory feel to everything, a crackle and hiss in the thin, stretched air that makes Remus think something is going to break, that the Earth is going to snap clean in two. 

It breaks at once, ripping itself apart just before sunrise with thunder that rattles everything to the bones and lightning that neatly scores the purple and pink sky. The air suddenly turns heavy and weighted, and when Remus wakes his fringe is glued to his forehead with both sweat and humidity.

Remus sits up slowly, calling out to wake Sirius, but Sirius is already up. He's at the once-dusty, now-muddy window, watching as the sky turns itself inside out. Remus' father knocks, pushing the door open with the blank, pinched expression of a man who knows his already meager livelihood is washing away.

Sirius is the first outside, his bare feet squelching in the mud and his jeans rolled to the knee. He adapts to the Muggle shovel quickly, shedding his shirt against the early morning heat, and takes Mr. Lupin's short, clipped directions with a degree of seriousness Remus would never have thought possible.

"You don't have to," Remus says quietly. He appreciates this more than he can put into words, but Sirius is a guest.

The rain is pouring down, clinging to Sirius' hair, splattering his chest in fat drops. Behind him, a hillside melts like chocolate, mud running in rivers towards the Lupin's back door, unhindered by the sparse, dead vegetation.

"Don't be stupid," Sirius replies. He shovels mud into the potato sack Remus is holding open, and falls to the bottom with a soft plop. "This is your home."

Sandbags ring the Lupin's back porch like a child's fort, stacked too high and held together with hopes and dreams. Remus looks at the at the sad pile of potato sacks, barely knee-high, thinks of three men fighting a hillside, and he wants to laugh. It's pointless, hopeless. 

"Will this hold for ten minutes, you think?" Sirius asks. Mud streaks his face, and he sucks on the pad of a dirty finger, where the shovel has worn a blister into his skin. 

A roll of thunder answers him, followed by a redoubled effort of rain.

"I'm owling James and Peter," Sirius continues, as if the rain never spoke. He thrusts his shovel at Remus, who takes it mutely. "Ten minutes."

"Sirius, they don't have to," Remus says. "You don't have to."

"This is your home," Sirius insists. "If it gets buried under mud, I'll have no place to go when I'm tired of James' ugly face."

Remus laughs, and Sirius kisses him, a light brush of lips that tastes of mud and rainwater. Sirius nods to himself as he pulls away, as if that settles it, and turns to go in the house. It only raises more questions, but Remus doesn't know how to ask. 

Ten minutes later, Sirius comes out and tosses two owls into the fray, Remus' and his own. He flashes Remus a crooked smile, and apologises to Remus' mum for tracking mud on the carpet.


	21. waiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _summer thunderstorms_

Sirius can feel it when the rain is about to come. The air shifts from thin and dry to heavy and thick, and it seems to ripple, seems to bubble like a brewing potion. Sirius paces the small flat, waiting. He wants to be there when the sky finally relents, when the sky rips open and the water breaks free. 

The first clap of thunder is like a slap to the face, so loud and sudden it's almost painful. It sounds distant, far away, and he counts to five before lightning streaks across the darkening sky. The rain comes slowly, in soft drops, tentative and unsure.

"Moony," Sirius calls. Remus is sprawled on the couch, napping with an open book over his face, and Sirius finds it both absurd and adorable. "Moony, wake up."

Remus makes a soft noise, thick with sleep and garbled under the pages of his book. Sirius rescues him from the book's clutches, snapping it closed and dropping it to the floor, and tugs Remus upright by his arm. 

"What?" Remus mumbles. He blinks at Sirius like an owl.

"It's raining, you git," Sirius says. 

"Grand," Remus says. He lies back down and throws his arm over his eyes. "You'll want to shut the bathroom window, then."

"Up, Moony," Sirius demands. He hauls Remus up again, this time with both arms, pulling until Remus is on his feet.

The fire escape is small. They barely fit on it together, and Sirius' arm is stretched behind Remus' back, his hand curled around the rusted railing. He likes having Remus close like this, tucked against him, and he wishes he could tell Remus, but be can never find the words.

Rain splatters Sirius face, soaking his hair and running down his neck, cool against his skin. Remus' fringe sticks to his forehead, heavy and dark with water that drips onto his nose.

The next roll of thunder makes Remus jump, the shock on his face illuminated by the immediate flash of lightning. Sirius wraps his arm around Remus' shoulder and laughs into the night.


	22. sunset

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _a picture of a red convertible_

Sirius arrives at Remus' flat late, and behind the wheel of a Muggle car. Remus doesn't know where Sirius got it, or how he learned to drive it, but he doesn't ask. Through almost ten years of friendship, Remus had discovered there were times when he was better off not knowing.

It's red, _red_ , the kind of red that hurt the eyes and made women think of Valentine's Day. It's very large, it doesn't have a roof, and Sirius proves immediately it can go very fast, all of which make Remus a little nervous.

Britain slips away underneath the tires, wind whipping through Remus' hair, the landscape fading to a multicoloured blur, yellow and green and brown. Sirius drives faster, faster, swallowing an endless stretch of highway, chasing the slowly bleeding horizon.

Sirius takes a curve too sharp, and Remus tips, sliding across the black leather seat. Sirius laughs like Remus has done a great trick, and rests his hand on Remus' knee. 

It's no so much a road as a dirt path, and the car rumbles and bumps in protest. Sirius ignores this, urging it forward, and he brings it to a stop just in time, at a cliff overlooking the water.

Remus is suddenly aware of their closeness, of Sirius' hand on his knee, and he wonders if he should move to his own side of the car. Sirius laughs when he starts to move, nudging Remus with his elbow, and wrapping his arm around Remus' shoulder.

"Sirius--"

"Shhh," Sirius chides, shaking his head. "Watch the sunset with me."

The sky is angry, pink-tinged, reflecting off the water like fire. Remus watches the sky burn to red, purple. The heat ebbs away with the sun, inch by inch, and Sirius' lips are on his neck.


	23. here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _standing stone_

(We can't do this here.)

It's a strange place, this. A sea breeze creeps inland, sneaking through the grass like a snake, and the sun loiters in the sky, heavy and yellow. Remus' body thinks it should have already set, and he can taste salt on his tongue.

(I can taste salt on your skin.)

Sirius is sunbrown and sweaty, and he lounges on Remus, heavy, languid. Their limbs are tangled, arms and legs, knees and elbows, skin against skin. Sirius' weight pins him to the ground, pushes him into the grass. 

(The grass is warm against my back, prickly and dry. It crushes under me, and it smells sweet, earthy. It reminds me of you, and I think it's going to swallow me whole. I'm afraid if I close my eyes, the sky will disappear.)

The sky seems close, too close, seems like it could fall at any moment, held in place by the stretching stones, weathered, sunbleached and older than time. The stones disappear into clumps of craggy grass, and Remus wonders how far down they burrow, if they reach the center of the Earth. 

(The stones are watching me, watching you, watching _us_. They can see your hand on my hip, your fingers twisted in my hair. They don't approve, I know. _I know_.)

Sirius' kisses are pure heat, soft lips and slick tongue that burn, sear. He murmurs against Remus' mouth, things that make Remus' skin flush and his ears pink. His breath is warm as it wisps over Remus' lips, and his fingers skitter across Remus' belly like a spider.

(We can't do this here, but we will. We will.)


	24. just this

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _but for now we are young, let us lay in the sun, and count every beautiful thing we can see, love to be in the arms of all i am keeping here with me._
> 
>  
> 
> _\--Neutral Milk Hotel, "In an Aeroplane Over the Sea"_

Flowers grace the centre of every table, snow-white lilies mixed with roses just shy of Gryffindor red. The vases are tied with shimmering gold ribbons, and bright green vines climb the latticework James' dad erected along the house's back wall. 

Lily is beautiful, her fiery hair twisted around a silver circlet like a halo. She compromises; traditional Wizarding robes in traditional Muggle white, and Sirius almost expects her to have wings when she turns.

A new beginning, James' mum says. She dabs her face with a delicate lace handkerchief, and Sirius sees grandchildren behind the tears in her eyes. An ending, he thinks privately. A handful of words, and James becomes Mr Potter, but he also stops being Prongs.

A public spectacle of something private, Remus says, speaking mostly to a glass of too-red wine. Friends and family all in your business, he goes on, his chuckle as dark as his robes. Who would want that, Padfoot, who?

I would, Sirius thinks secretly, washing the words down with a mouthful of quiche. He mostly agrees with Remus, mostly thinks it's a big fuss over something a bloke at the Ministry could have sorted with a sigh and a wave of his wand. But a small part of him, empty and discontent, would like to hold Remus' hand in front of everyone he knows and say just this. Just this. 

Remus wouldn't, because Remus is a private person who likes private things, who keeps his secrets locked away in a vault no one can find. Sirius would like to call what he and Remus have a relationship, but it is not. It's too fragile, too precarious, a precious thing wedged between the moon and the stars and balanced on the edge of stretched trust and scars.

The sun plays through Remus' hair, streaking it yellow and gold, and he slits his eyes against it. His hand is warm on Sirius' knee, concealed under a heavy linen table cloth, but there, there.

Sirius leans in and brushes a quick kiss across Remus' lips. He hopes no one is looking, hopes everyone is.


	25. cherry flavoured

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _ice pops_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (warning: adult content)

Sirius' hands are cold, sticky, and artifical cherries are sharp and plasticy on his lips. He kisses Remus like he devoured the ice pop, with small sighs caught in his throat and long swipes of his tongue.

He pushes Remus back onto the grass, his red-stained fingers twisting in Remus' hair. Remus melts into it like the sugary-sweet puddle at his elbow and lets Sirius eat.

Sirius whispers filthy things in Remus' ear, and Remus' cheeks flush the colour of Sirius' cherry-tinted tongue. His skin heats under Sirius' touch, lazy, liquid pleasure rustling through him as Sirius' fingers trail over his belly, his chest, his arms.

Remus pulls Sirius closer, his fingers digging into Sirius' skin, and Sirius is hard against his hip. Sirius moves slowly, pressing down, brushing their cocks together, and Remus pushes a moan into Sirius' mouth. 

Sparks curl up Remus' spine, tipping him over the edge, and he shatters quietly on the grass under Sirius' lips and hands. His blood is still rushing in his ears when Sirius' breaks, but Remus feels it in the way Sirius' body shudders, sees it in the way Sirius' eyes flash silver and slide closed.


	26. together. yes, i think so

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _There is a place where the sidewalk ends_  
>  And before the street begins,  
> And there the grass grows soft and white,  
> And there the sun burns crimson bright,  
> And there the moon-bird rests from his flight  
> To cool in the peppermint wind.
> 
>  
> 
> _-Shel Silverstein._

It's a muggle place, cold and dirty, and the buildings are tall, looming. The pavement is litter-strewn and cracked, and grass springs from the fissures, stretching between the rubbish toward a sun hidden behind fire-escapes and sagging roofs. 

Sirius lounges against a wall, his gaze fixed on the pub across the street. A cigarette is between his fingers, ignored, smoke curling thick and white between his knuckles. It flies away free, catching the breeze like a bird.

He watches Remus out of the corner of his eye, afraid to blink. His fingers are twisted in the cuff of Remus' shirt, and his wand, hidden up his sleeve, pokes painfully into his arm. Remus holds a newspaper stiffly, and Sirius knows he's not read a single word.

The sun paints the pub orange, sunlight glinting brightly off the bricks. Sirius squints against it as the door creaks, his heart trapped in the back of his throat. He does blink then, and Remus' newspapers falls silently to the pavement.

"It's them," Remus says quietly. 

Three men step into the street. Sirius doesn't know their names, but he knows their faces. He knows that they have done, knows they are the reason his brother is dead, the reason James, Lily and Harry are in hiding.

One of them looks up at Sirius, whose greying, nameless face Sirius hates. Sirius lets the butt of his wand fall into the palm of his hand, and there is a long moment where a dirty, London street is utterly silent.

The first curse hits the bricks above Sirius' head with a noise like a muggle firecracker, and sharp splinters rain down in a shower of russet dust. Remus pushes himself away from the wall, wand in hand. An ache spreads through Sirius' chest, tight, painful, Sirius moves in front of him, unwilling to lose him as well.


	27. explosions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _fireworks_

It's a small thing, paper-wrapped and menacing, and Remus watches it warily. This is a very bad idea. Sirius is a danger to himself and others without help or encouragement, and as far as Remus is concerned, fire and explosions are both.

The moon is high, almost full, and Sirius' wand glints dangerously. Remus glances at the brush, at the grass, yellowed and dry from heat and lack of rain. A very bad idea, one that will inevitably end in burnt fingers. Blackened plants. A raging inferno.

"Are you ready, Moony?" 

Sirius has a glimmer in his eyes, the kind of mischievous gleam he only shares with James, and Remus feels himself subsiding, caving. Sirius' smile is wide, reckless, and Remus has no defence against it.

"Point it away from the house," Remus replies. It's old, and it's a bit battered, but it's the only house his parents have.

" _Incendio_!" Sirius replies.

His wand flashes orange, the flames forming strange shadows across his face. There is a sizzle, a flash, and a strange whistle as the thing takes flight.

The crack makes Remus jump, even though he knows it's coming. The rocket explodes into a shower of sparks, red and yellow and green. They paint the sky in bright light, then fall to the ground with a soft hiss. 

Sirius is grinning like the madman he is, and Remus smells sulfur and ash. Sirius' fingers curl around Remus' wrist, his fingers warm against Remus' skin. 

"Your turn," Sirius says. 

"No, Sirius," Remus says, shaking his head. It's bad enough he can't put a stop to this, he won't participate.

"Yes," Sirius insists, waving the rocket threateningly. "This one is blue. I know how much you like blue."

"You do it," Remus says. His chest is tight. Blue is his favourite color, but he doesn't remember ever telling Sirius that. 

Sirius huffs and sets the rocket on the ground. Sirius lights the fuse, then turns, watching Remus with a curious smile. 

It catches a bit of wind as it launches, sailing back toward them. Remus tries to step away, but Sirius is in front of him, holding his arms, and over their heads, the sky erupts into three shades of blue. 

Sirius kisses him as the embers rain down, and Remus tastes fire.


	28. luck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Hogwarts Letters_

The Hogwarts Letters come at breakfast, courtesy of a large screech owl with a disconcerting stare. Sirius' is bundled with James', the pair tied together with a purple ribbon, and the owl snaps its beak at Sirius when he picks up the wrong one. 

"Diagon, then, for lunch," Mrs Potter says, wiping her hands on a tea towel. "You should Floo Remus and Peter," she adds, smiling. "We'll make a day of it, if you promise not to get up to anything that will give me a heart attack. 

"Of course not, mum," James says, and Sirius nods in agreement.

Remus and Peter meet them outside Flourish and Blotts, crowded together in the small square of shade afforded by the doorway. Peter is red-faced, with ice cream in the corners of his mouth, and Remus looks pale, tired. He smiles carefully at Sirius, laughs when James coos at Peter like a child and tries to clean his mouth with a wet thumb. 

Sirius drops his books on the counter with a clatter. The reedy man at the counter gives him a thin smile and shakes his head at Sirius' money. 

"Yours have been paid for," he says. 

"By who?" Sirius demands. 

"By whom," the man corrects lightly, and Sirius gives him a dangerous look. "By your mother, of course."

Sirius skin chills, and he gapes at the man like a landed fish. The man points over Sirius' shoulder, and Sirius turns. Mrs Potter is behind him, smiling. 

"Yours have already been sorted, Sirius," she says lightly. 

"I've my own money this time," Sirius says. He blushes, remembering last year, the year he'd run away from home, when Mrs Potter had had to buy his books, as well as new robes, because he'd grown four inches. "From my great-uncle." He scoops his coins off the counter, holding them out to her, but she shakes her head. 

"You save that for something you need," she says. "You're welcome to stay with us when school is finished as long as you like, but if you decide to get a flat, you'll need to have every bit he gave you, as much use as you parents are."

"Thank you, Mrs Potter," Sirius says, heat rushing to his face.

She nods firmly, then turns, harrying after James. She approaches quickly, shouting him away from a book on Fire Magic. As soon as she's gone, Sirius rounds on the man at the till, dropping his coins back on the counter with a clink.

"You see the brown-haired bloke in Arithmancy?" Sirius asks. "Thin, looks like he hasn't slept in a week?"

"Yes," 

"Put this toward his," Sirius says. "And new books, mind. You tell him he can have tatty second-hand books if he wants, but you're only going to give him the change."

The man gives Sirius a skeptical look, his eyes darting to Mrs Potter. Sirius sets another Galleon on the counter, pushing it across the shiny wood until it touches the man's spidery fingers. 

"I didn't pay for them, either," Sirius goes on. "I don't care what you tell him, but it wasn't me."

Remus is at the counter a long time, a line forming behind him as he tries to argue the reedy man around. Remus finally subsides when the girl behind him starts to grumble, accepting his parcel of new books with spots of colour on his cheeks. 

He looks at Sirius immediately, and Sirius hides his smile behind a book. 

"Sirius," Remus says flatly. "Is there a reason that man wouldn't take my money?" 

"What are you on about, Moony?" Sirius asks innocently. Remus glances at the book in his hands, lifting an eyebrow, and Sirius realises he's reading _Household Spells for Newlywed Witches_. He clears his throat and drops it on the table. "What's this about money, then?"

"The man at the till," Remus says. "He said my books have been paid for."

"Fancy that," Sirius says lightly. "Your lucky day, I guess."

"Yeah," Remus murmurs. He smiles softly, and Sirius can't look away. "I guess."


	29. ireland

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _scenic view_

Come away with me, Sirius asks, just for the day. Remus murmurs I can't between turning the page, waves absently at the scrolls stacked on his desk. Sirius says please and Remus says work, and the next thing he sees is Padfoot slinking out of the room.

It is work. Translations, mostly; ancient spells put into common terms with the help of heavy, yellowed book. Remus finds it interesting, especially the bits that require a little Arithmancy, but it's tiring, and tedious. His eyes hurt from the tiny, faded print, and his wrist aches from writing for hours on end. 

But he's glad for the work, glad to be useful. He's glad Dumbledore's found something for him to do besides stay yourself safe, my boy, and keep an eye on Sirius, there's a lad. It even pays a little, not nearly enough to live on, but enough that Remus can contribute a little toward the bills on he and Sirius' flat. 

The sitting room is hot, a stifling breeze stirring the curtains. Outside, Padfoot barks, and a bird twitters past the window. Remus looks up, watching Padfoot play, watching him chew a clump of weed at the base of the withering oak in the yard, watching him dig a hole in the grass for no reason at all. 

He puts his quill aside when Sirius comes back in, lets Sirius pull him to his feet. His arms wrap around Remus' waist, his shoulder digs into Remus' shoulder, and Remus hears a quick, deep breath before the sudden squeeze tells him it's too late. 

Remus opens his eyes to Ireland.


	30. something for nothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _hose-pipe ban_

The grass is dry under Remus' hands and feet, pointed, prickly. It crinkles under his weight like wadded parchment, bending at odd, yellowed angles. The hose-pipe is coiled under a drooping hedge, hidden, forgotten, lying in wait like a snake. Its copper end glints in the sun, mocking Mrs Potter as she complains about the state of her lawn. 

"I can't Charm it," she explains. She's armed with lemonade, and Remus' mouth waters at the very sight of it, at clinking ice cubes and condensation on the side of the glass. "There's no moisture in the air to work with," she adds, clucking her tongue. 

Remus thinks of the Muggle principles of mass and energy, of how explosions only change bricks into dust and fire only transfigures wood into ash. He thinks magic is much the same, when broken down to basics. Magic can do a lot of things, but it can't make something from nothing at all. 

Sirius wanders over, lured away from where James is writing a letter under a different tree by the promise of lemonade. He's shirtless, and his jeans hang low on his hips. His skin is sunbrown, slick with sweat, and a dusting of dark hair crawls away from his navel, sneaking under the waistband.

Mrs Potter favours him with a disapproving frown, murmuring about indecency as he plucks a glass from her hand. He flashes her the kind of smile that should never be directed at someone's mother, and she swats him with a tea towel before retreating into the house.

"Sirius," Remus chides. "You shouldn't flirt with James' mum."

"Jealous?" Sirius asks, flopping down on what's left of the grass. 

Remus looks away quickly, hiding the heat rushing to his face. It's difficult, this thing they have, this thing that is so new and delicate they can scarcely find the words to talk about it. It's kept between them, hidden inside their hearts and pockets, fit into the spaces left when James and Peter are away or asleep. 

"It drives James to distraction," Remus says thinly. 

"Of course," Sirius says brightly. "That's why I do it." He pauses, taking a sip of lemonade, and Remus tries not to stare at the line of his throat. "A little flattery never hurts," he goes on. "A Sickle says she's comes out in a bit with biscuits."

"I'd've of brought the biscuits anyway, Sirius Black," Mrs Potter calls through the window. Colour blooms on Sirius' cheeks, and Remus throws back his head and laughs. 

"What's James doing, then?" Remus asks, once he can speak. James glances up briefly, his face greyed by the shadow of the tree, then turns back to the parchment spread across his lap.

"Wooing," Sirius says, shaking his head. 

"She'll only send it back," Remus remarks, around a swallow of lemonade. "Hexed." 

"I know this, and you know this," Sirius says. "Try telling that to the great prat." He shifts a bit, moving closer. Their shoulders are almost brushing, and Remus can feel the heat of Sirius' body. "I dare you."

"Is that why Peter went up the tree?" Remus asks. Wormtail is curled up on a branch just above James' head, his thin tail the size and shape of a bent twig.

"Yeah," Sirius snorts. "He told James he would only be wasting parchment, and James pulled his wand on him."

Sirius shifts again, stretching his legs out in front of him, leaning back on his elbows, and Remus wants nothing more than to roll over on him, to touch and taste. It's unfair, Remus thinks, to only have Sirius in the dark, in corners, when no one else is looking, to know the feel of Sirius' hands and mouth on his skin when he's unable to have it all the time. 

It started here, shortly after Remus came to visit, hurried kisses and fumbling fingers in the confines of the Potter's guest room. The approach of school, two short days away, makes Remus nervous, anxious. He wonders if Sirius will want to continue it, worries the whistle of the Hogwarts Express will break the spell, destroy this thing that has, impossibly, been created out of thin air. 

Sirius leans in, butting his head on Remus' shoulder, then hides a kiss behind Remus' ear. Remus turns his head, brushing their lips together, but he pulls away just as Sirius' tongue flicks over his lips, because they can't, not here, and he knows it.

"James," Remus reminds. James is still hunched over his letter to Evans, and Remus glances at the tree, wondering if Wormtail can see them from that far away.

"I'm going to tell him," Sirius says. He studies his lap, and picks idly at a clump of weeds. 

"What?" Remus asks. His chest feels tight, achy. "Why?"

"He should know," Sirius replies. "He'll figure it out, anyway, if I sleep in your bed all term."

"My bed?"

"I like yours better." Sirius says. "Mine's always too cold or too hot, because it's under the bloody window."

"How--" Remus can't finish that sentence. He's not sure he and Sirius are even having the same conversation, because on his end, nothing Sirius saying is making any sense.

"I slept in it once, when you were mad at me, about Snape." Sirius says quietly. "You were sleeping in the common room. You wouldn't talk to me, and I _missed_ you." The weed he's been torturing pulls free with a snap. He drops it on the grass and brushes his hands on his jeans. "Anyway, I like yours better, so we'll have to sleep in yours."

"Sirius, I--" He's finally found words, but they die on his tongue when he glances at Sirius, who looks hurt, horrified.

"Oh God, you don't want that, do you?" Sirius' eyes widen, darken, and his teeth crease his lower lip. "I just thought -- but you don't." He looks away, and plucks at his jeans. "Moony, I'm sorry. I won't--"

"No, I do," Remus says quickly. His chest _hurts_ , and he's sure they are still having different conversations. "I didn't think you did."

Sirius laughs quietly, shaking his head. "I do," he says. "That's why we have to tell James. If he don't, and he finds out, he'll be mad that we've kept secrets."

"What if he gets mad, anyway?" Remus asks. "I mean, he might not like it."

"I don't care," Sirius says, smiling. Something inside Remus breaks, shatters. He's scared, shaky, but he can breathe again.

"Sirius Black." Mrs Potter walks over, her lips pressed into a thin line. She's holding a plate covered with a tea towel. "What have you done to Remus?" 

"Nothing."

"It must be the heat, then," she says, ignoring Sirius completely. "You've gone all red. Maybe you should come inside."

"I'm fine," Remus says, and he is.

"What've you got?" Sirius asks. He sits up and eyes her plate hopefully. 

"Biscuits," she replies. Sirius lifts the corner of the tea towel, and she bats his hand away. "Orange tea biscuits."

"Those are my favorite!" Sirius says. 

"I had no idea," she says, but she blushes a bit, and Sirius laughs.


	31. touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It was Indian Summer;_  
>  light wolves and dark wolves howled through the day --
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _It was Indian Summer_  
>  and a snake shed its skin.
> 
>  
> 
> _Then, and only then, was I properly_  
>  human.
> 
>  
> 
> _\--Alma Luz Villanueva, INDIAN SUMMER RITUAL_

The wind hints at relief, whispers the promise of autumn waiting around the corner, but heat clings to it, heavy, thick, refusing to subside to night, holding the seasons at bay. The moon is round in the sky, just waning from full, and Remus is restless, anxious, fatigue imprinted in the hollows around his eyes.

It took Remus hard this month, a combination of the wolf's distaste for the oppressive summer swelter and Remus' frustration at not yet finding a job. Moony had been difficult to control for Padfoot alone, and he'd come back to himself reluctantly, bruised, bloodied, creaking and sighing like a broken thing.

He naps still, two days later, sprawled on the couch with his hair wild and his limb flung. A Muggle telly buzzes in the background, ignored, almost silent as it flickers, painting Remus' sleeping face in plastic, carnival colours. Sirius sits with him, as Sirius, as Padfoot, as whatever Remus needs.

Sirius eats leftover curry cross-legged on the floor, his back against the couch, his head half-pillowed on Remus' belly. Remus' fingers are lost in his hair, seeking solace even in sleep. Sirius holds the carton up to his chin to accommodate this, eats one-handed so he can stroke his thumb over Remus' wrist. 

The telly dissolves to speckled black and white, a robin's egg in grey, and Remus shifts, sighing with the wind that sneaks in through the window. Sirius abandons the curry, pulling Remus' hand from his hair, and he watches, frowning at the lines creasing Remus' shadowed face. 

Remus is y-fronts and skin, and Sirius touches him softly, a thumb over the sharp point of his ankle, fingertips through the light dusting of hair on his legs. Remus is warm, fevered from the moon that refuses to leave his blood, damp at the backs of his knees. Sirius traces the edge of his y-fronts, brushing over the skin that disappears under the hem, then jumps to Remus' belly, his fingers dancing over the silver raise of scars, circling the dip of his navel. 

Sirius skates the heel of his hand up the plane of Remus' chest, feeling muscles shift, pressing back against the beat of his heart. Remus is too thin, pared down by the wolf taking more than he has to give, and Sirius smoothes his hand down Remus' side, splaying his fingers over the sharp jut of his ribs. 

He skims the line of Remus' jaw, the swell of his cheek, lets his thumb trace the curve of Remus' lips. He brushes through Remus' fringe, his fingers coaxing away the crease in Remus' forehead, and Remus stirs, mumbles, a sleepy noise that is not words, simply sound.

"How do you feel?" Sirius asks. 

"Better," Remus murmurs. "Better."


End file.
